


we walk past each other

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-What Makes the Sky Blue III: 000 (Granblue Fantasy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: in different ways and different times but all the same brushing against.
Relationships: Belial/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	we walk past each other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somnicordia (hihazuki)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihazuki/gifts), [TheHangedMan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangedMan/gifts).



> The intimacy in this fic is angry but consensual. Stay safe!

He can’t move.

He does not give Belial the pleasure of seeing him struggle. The iron kisses his wrists to his ankles. If he so much as budges an inch, the Sword of Repudiation will bleed him dry. His six wings crackle against his back. They try to appear and dissipate before they can take form.

“Nostalgic, ain’t it?”

“You’ve never been here,” Sandalphon says back. Pandemonium ripples like a long, thick fabric pulled over his eyes. When he draws in his focus, he can see the curtain start to rise. Then, Belial crashes a foot back down onto his stomach. The thrall of unreality comes back down on him. White, blue, red, yellow. Stalagmites. Research labs. Black and desolate valleys of death he passes through every night in his dreams.

Lucifer, staff and rod, comfort him--

“I’ve got a staff for you right here,” Belial coos. He’s already shorn off his clothes from the waist down. The fabric at his belt (the same cloth they all wore, torn from Lucilius’ robes and swaddled around them when they were newly born) crumples like a silk heap. “Let me take care of your rod.”

Sandalphon tries to spit at him, but his throat seizes up before he can. His legs are spread wide. His hands are useless. His shoulders split with pain. Belial puts a hand around him, stroking him, and despite himself, Sandalphon’s cock is willed to hardness.

That’s the price you pay when Belial visits your dreams. He is Charon and he takes of your body to guide you across the river of Styx. The scent of death clings to him like a plague.

“A plague?” laughs Belial. In his thoughts, a part of his thoughts. He is every neuron reaching towards himself. He has shackled Sandalphon’s mind to him, too, not just his body. He wends through the synaptic gaps like a serpent. “A serpent? That’s better. Keep thinking in the phallic direction, Sandy.”

Belial presses down on his centrum -- no, the small of his back, where wings should arch out and do not -- and presses into him. Hips go up, and the heat slides on in. Belial’s used some kind of dark liquid to _prepare_ him. Sandalphon stares at the urn to centre himself. He can’t move. He can’t move. He shouldn’t move. He should--

“Ohh. You’re tight. Been saving yourself this entire time,” says Belial, and it is a statement, and a fact. Phosphorous, the Sword of Repudiation would eat him alive. He can hear its voice. It coils through him and up his spine. _I came for him, and I’ve come for you, too_.

He spent two thousand years in this hole. He’s been here long enough. He stripped off the past. He’s gone through the valley. He’s had enough.

“But I haven’t!” _But I haven’t_. “We’re just getting started, Sandy!” _We’ve only just started, Supreme_. The thrusts begin. In, out, in, out. The dark cavern of Pandemonium flexes with him in rhythm. He breathes in angry gasps. He tries to shut it all out, shut his eyes.

Isn’t that what the Singularity told him? If you want to wake up from a dream, try shutting your eyes. No. Wait. It was opening your eyes.

He opens his eyes. There’s Belial, panting on top of him, pounding deep inside and licking his lips in satisfaction.

He opens his eyes. There’s Belial, laughing at his weakness, Pandemonium trying to close him up in its arms.

He opens his eyes. There’s Belial, sheathing himself fully inside, and Pandemonium is on fire, burning all around them.

“You’re dead,” he whispers. The snap of his voice bounces and catches him again across the face. The smoke clouds his lungs and accuses him. Belial scratches him across the front of his chest. Sandalphon looks down and he bleeds.

Old wounds open again. Rain, rain, come to play. Go haunt another day. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you. Little Sandy,” punctuates Belial through the motion of his hips, “who can’t let go of the past.” He laughs loudly and directs his voice to the sky. “Are you watching, Lucifer!?”

“Don’t you,” Sandalphon sobs, “don’t you dare say his name!”

But it just keeps coming and it just keeps coming. The head of Belial’s cock drags along his insides. It takes all of his strength just to stay stiff and unmoving. One nick and he’ll be gone. _Just one breath and it will all be over_ , the weapon promises.

“Your bride got his head cut off. I took his body.” Belial takes a hand and encircles it around Sandalphon’s cock, working him in a tight circle. Sandalphon bites his tongue and bleeds just to simply not gasp. “Looked better on mine. Did you think about that when you fought him? Wasn’t that kind of a betrayal?”

“Betrayal--”

“Is a man part of his body?” Belial asks. It’s the argument long held between the little alchemist and her cohorts on the ship. Where does the mind end? Where does the love begin? “You know they say the skydwellers are in their heads, but what about us? Aren’t we in our cores?” He pauses to rap his knuckles against his chest. “You don’t know that he wasn’t trapped.”

“He wasn’t,” Sandalphon says uselessly. Belial resumes the slapping of their skin together. The tension in him eases and he finds himself more pliant. He -- doesn’t -- he, “He wasn’t.”

“If he was, he’s gone now. Ate him right up! Spat him out and drained him dry for the passage of my lord and messiah.” Belial cocks his head to the side, thoughtful now. “Finally given up?”

The only way to survive a nightmare is to open your eyes.

Sandalphon leans up. Belial meets him. Their lips are brought together in a union of teeth and mutual hate. “I want this,” he snaps. It is, in a way, giving himself up.

Giving up the holy ghost.

“How boring,” Belial sighs. He spills himself inside of Sandalphon with a wicked grunt. Sandalphon, in turn, cums with a rocking of his hips, unafraid of the tightness of his wrists pressing close to the chaos blade binding his ankles. “It’s more fun when you resist.”

“I want this,” Sandalphon assures him again, relaxing his muscles and feeling the release when all of Belial leaves him. Physically: Belial retreats. Spiritually: he lets his hate go. Psychologically: he whispers an assent.

He opens his eyes. Pandemonium is gone. The morning is come.

When he gets out of bed there’s a dead crow on his floor.

“Come through the valley of death.”


End file.
